


open up my eager eyes

by electr1c_compass



Category: Crooked Media RPF
Genre: Multi, P is also here, Threesome - F/F/M, no canonical tagging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-03
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2019-06-21 05:11:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15550359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/electr1c_compass/pseuds/electr1c_compass
Summary: Priyanka parks on the street, usually across the road so she doesn't have to turn around — can brush it off as a stop on her way home. The sun’s still out and the street’s bathed in golden light. It feels like it should be later, hidden behind the dark.





	open up my eager eyes

**Author's Note:**

> You make ONE joke and then suddenly it's a fic. Thanks to my PI partner in crime for the idea and the edits.

Priyanka's favorite commute is the ten minutes it takes to get from their new office to Emily and Jon's house. Traffic exists in a different space here and every minute seems to drag a little more slowly than the one before. It's a necessary ten minutes (fifteen if it's too close to 5pm, ten if the newsletter takes a little longer and she can't leave until 6:30), lets her shake off whatever horrifying news she's had to read that day, lets her forget what, exactly, she's doing here, driving to her boss's house.

It's not every day or even most days, but the occasional invite — a text from Emily in the morning that says “Tonight?” (Their text chains consist exclusively of Emily's hot takes about Justin Bieber and these one-off messages, with just a time.) She'll say yes, can't fathom turning it down, and head out as early as she's able. And _still_ , it's her boss and his wife and the commute helps soothe the bundle of nerves in her stomach, wear it away until it's unfiltered excitement.

She parks on the street, usually across the road so she doesn't have to turn around — can brush it off as a stop on her way home. The sun’s still out and the street’s bathed in golden light. It feels like it should be later, hidden behind the dark.

Emily opens the door before Priyanka's even reached it.

“Were you waiting for me to pull up?” She asks Emily in greeting. Emily doesn't respond, just grins at her and steps back so Priyanka can follow her inside.

“Good day?” She asks lightly. Before Priyanka can answer, she leans up to kiss her — just a soft brush of their lips — and pulls away. The house is quiet and shadowed around them and Emily reaches out to link their fingers together, pulling her down the hall. Priyanka’s been here enough that she could find her way on her own, but she, as always, lets Emily take the lead.

“What did Jon tell you?” Priyanka asks her, mostly because it makes Emily laugh dryly and glance back at her.

“That it was a good day.”

Priyanka laughs. It's almost too loud for the dark space, for the bubble they're in together, the bubble she’s afraid to burst. “Glad he thought so.”

“Yeah?” Emily pushes open the bedroom door, leads the way to the bed. Jon's stretched out on his side, the nightstand beside him clear except for his watch and his iPad, already discarded from the day. He has an arm tucked behind his head, scrolling through his phone with the other. It's too early to be in bed and on most other nights, Priyanka realizes, they'd probably both still be at the office together, watching the hours bleed into late night.

“Hey,” he greets her easily, smile a little bigger and more gap-toothed than usual (probably not, but it sure seems so — eager and bright).

“Hi.” Her hand is still tangled with Emily’s and Priyanka watches as Jon’s gaze flicks down to notice. Emily must notice too because her grip tightens. It’s not a surprise, but Priyanka still feels a rush, a shiver of excitement as Emily turns toward her, rocks up on her toes. Emily always kisses her before Jon: the final point of demarcation in this line between work and home.

Women — well, Emily, a woman, is still new for Priyanka. She’s not used to the way she has to bend down to meet her or how small Emily’s jaw feels cupped in her hand. The height difference between them isn't stark, just few inches, but it's enough to throw Priyanka off, remind her of just how tiny Emily is. It’s not a shock, but it’s not yet familiar.

There's no prelude or buildup — Priyanka doesn't want or need it; the long stretch of days from the last time she was over already had her squeezing her knees together in anticipation on the drive. She feels dizzy with it even now, her body shuddering and on edge. The kiss is open-mouthed and wet and hot, right from the beginning. There are times she wants to draw out, wants to let linger, but now, that’s the last thing on her mind.

Emily runs her hands over Priyanka’s torso and grips the hem of her dress in one fist. “Can I?” She whispers into her mouth. When Priyanka nods, she pushes the dress slowly up her body, Emily’s slim hands roaming over bare skin left in its wake. She touches the outside of her thigh, presses light fingertips to the dip of her navel, trails a nail under the curve of her bra until Priyanka’s shivering. She breaks the kiss long enough to push the dress over her head and Priyanka lifts her arms willingly. Emily pulls her own shirt off next, efficient and without wasting time.

“Come on,” Emily says to Jon who’s still waiting patiently on the bed, who’s only move has been to set his phone down on the nightstand: “off to match.”

It makes Priyanka muffle a laugh into Emily's collarbone when she presses a damp kiss against her shoulder. She can't even remember who said it first or when, but it's become a private punchline, an inside one-liner, something just for the three of them to share. Jon listens, sitting up and tugging off his heathered grey t-shirt (god, the same one he wore to the office, to their pitch meeting, to the livestream, now to their _bedroom_ ) by the back of the collar. He tosses it to the side and she loses track of where it lands when he slips off the bed to come stand beside her, running a broad hand over her lower back. He traces the divots of her spine with gentle fingers, fitting his other hand against the curve of her hip. His hands are big enough to cover the expanse of her lower back as he twists her body to face him. Emily presses up behind her, her hands joining Jon’s. Jon fits his mouth over Priyanka’s and she steps closer to him almost instantly, seeking more. He's like a furnace this close, his body hot everywhere they're touching and she can feel Emily warm against her exposed back. Unconsciously, she feels her breath pick up in response to them — an automatic reaction to being this close.

Jon kisses her for a long moment, unhurried and lingering. It’s Emily who pushes the pace, her hands dipping under the hem of Priyanka’s underwear. She doesn’t move lower, but the gentle bites on the back of Priyanka’s neck urge her to ask for more. Priyanka fumbles the button on Jon’s jeans; she can feel him, hard against the zipper, and can’t resist palming him through his underwear when she finally gets the denim shoved to his thighs. His groan reverberates in the quiet space and she greedily swallows the sound.

He kicks his pants to the floor, then hoarsely says “Take care of Em first.”

“Bed?” Emily asks, breath hot against her ear. Priyanka nods, lets her lead the way. Emily shucks her bra and her impossibly small denim shorts before she knees up on the bed. She hesitates for a moment before Priyanka reaches out, pushes her back against the pillows. It makes Emily grin up at her, clearly pleased. They’ve only done this six or eight times, but it’s not hard to tell what Emily likes. Priyanka envies her for it, the unabashed pleasure and effortless elegance.

She finally takes a breath here, slows down. The mattress shifts under her knees as she straddles Emily, bending down to slide her tongue over the tendon in her neck, the dip of her collarbone. She traces her way down, biting carefully at the underside of her breast. It’s gratifying when Emily’s hand cups the back of her head, fingers tightening to hold her in place. She’s straining up into the touch, arching up against Priyanka’s teeth.

There’s a mark flaring up on Emily’s skin when she finally moves away and Emily presses her own fingers into it, hissing quietly. That had surprised Priyanka initially: how much Emily liked the pain. It's quiet as Priyanka eases herself down Emily's body. Her breath is ragged, rattling harsh and shallow in her ears. Emily's legs open for her and she settles between them, her hands pushing her thighs wide.

She glances over at the mirrors that line one wall of Emily and Jon's bedroom. The movement makes Jon look up too and he catches her eye, watches as she appraises their reflections. She looks good like this — they look good together. Emily stretched out around her, Jon beside them, the contrast of Emily’s pale skin and light sheets against the shadow of Priyanka’s hands.

“Come on,” Emily says, voice broken and low, her hand in Priyanka’s hair tugging her back down to Earth. “Pri — babe, please.” She’s already wet, low on her thighs when Priyanka turns back to her. She traces the shine with a fingertip, considers her next move. She thinks about making her wait, about keeping her spread out in front of her like this for as many hours as Emily can stand. She lets the seconds stretch until Emily says again: “ _Please_.”

It’s the crack in her voice that does it, the pleading note that makes her break. She loses everything around her as she bends down, traces her tongue over Emily’s cunt. It’s a shock reaction, instantaneous and visceral, when Emily arches up to meet her. Like everything else, it’s just a cut to the chase. Priyanka teases it out, lets Emily beg again before she licks in deeper. Jon reaches forward, pulling Priyanka’s hair away from her face, holding it back in one hand. His other finds Emily’s nipple, rolling it between his fingers.

She loses minutes here, buried between Emily’s legs. It’s easy to forget time here in Emily’s slow grind up and the sound of her soft sighs. Emily’s thighs clamp down tight around Priyanka’s shoulders when she slides two fingers in to meet her tongue. She links her ankles behind Priyanka's back, her heels digging into drag her closer. Priyanka can feel her body shifting in response as Emily cants her hips up on a low moan.

It takes effort — so much effort — to still her fingers and pull away. “What do you want?”

Emily’s cheeks are blotchy and her eyelids flutter shut before she can bring herself to ask. “God, please, Pri.”

Priyanka waits her out. She twists her fingers deeper, swipes a thumb over Emily’s clit and stills again.

Emily lets out a trembling breath. “Will you let me come?”

Rather than answering, Priyanka ducks her head, sucks Emily’s clit back into her mouth and crooks her fingers forward, gentle and insistent. Emily cries out and lets her head fall back against the pillows. The cry devolves into another moan, her entire body asking for more. Priyanka had forgotten Emily’s hand was clutched against the back of her head until it tightens, trying to keep her in place as Emily rocks her hips up. “God, god, _god_ ,” she chants until she’s coming with a shiver, collapsing back against the bed.

Priyanka doesn’t move as Emily shudders through the last of her orgasm. Her face is sticky and messy but she leaves it, turning to press a kiss into the gentle swell of Emily’s thigh.

“C’mere,” Emily says, pulling her up. She’s loose limbed and looks sleepy already, relaxed in a way Priyanka only glimpses in these heady moments. Jon lets Priyanka’s hair go as she moves up to Emily and it hits Emily in the face, making her laugh. She tucks it back behind Priyanka’s ear as she leans up to kiss her, sweetly and without intent. It’s a sharp contrast to the way Priyanka finds herself grinding forward, searching for friction.

She doesn’t need to ask or even say anything before she turns to Jon. He’s there waiting for her and she lets him pull her close. It’s an awkward shuffle of limbs before they can get arranged on the bed, Priyanka hovering above Jon. She can feel her body protesting tiredly and she has to balance, brace against Jon’s shoulder. Maybe he can sense it or maybe — she shivers at the thought — Emily’s just trained him well as he sits up a little to take her weight and settles his hands on her hips.

“Wait.” It's quiet, almost a command before he softens it with, “Hang on.” A firm hand on her ass keeps her poised above him and he stretches his other fingers out to Emily. He pushes two fingers past her lips, letting her curl her tongue around them.

Priyanka almost feels like she's intruding, watching the way Jon watches Emily, like somehow, impossibly this moment wasn’t meant for her. But then Jon turns that same focused, intense gaze back to her, bringing his spit-slick fingers to the apex of her legs, curling them up and in. She puts her other hand against the headboard to steady herself. “I’m good, I’m good.” It doesn’t stop his steady movement, not until she’s moving with his fingers and can feel the muscles in her abdomen start to clench down.

“Are you ready?” He asks and she _thinks_ it’s a joke, but says “yes, _please_ ,” just to make sure.

In the next breath, he lets her sink down onto him. Her thighs are already trembling by the time she lifts herself back up. Jon’s thumb digs into the crease of her thigh when she finds her rhythm. She knows him well enough, knows the pattern, to sense that he’s holding back.

“Come — on,” she orders, “I'm not doing all the work here.” She’s shaking, even before he plants his feet and pushes his hips up to meet her. She grinds down, resting her hands on his chest. He’s not afraid to manhandle her — angles her forward enough to kiss her. The angle’s off and it’s just on this side of too rough, but between the rhythmic rock of his hips and the casual way Emily reaches down in between them, Priyanka can feel her toes start to curl.

“Do you need to look in the mirror?” He asks teasingly, too casual for the sweat beading along his hairline and the way he's watching her, eyes dark.

She briefly considers a snarky reply, but can't seem to find the words. “Don't fucking —” she gasps a little when he does _something_ that makes her body jolt, the headboard rock against the wall “ — stop.”

She loses herself in it, tucking her head against his neck as she lets herself go. It doesn’t take long before she’s shivering on top of him, shaking through her own orgasm. He comes too, with a quiet groan when she tightens around him, his fingernails carving white marks into the soft skin of her inner thigh.

“Fuck,” she says, muffled against his neck, and he’s laughing, his entire body shaking with it as he turns to press a kiss into the side of her head.

They curl up on either side of her, Jon leaning across her to kiss Emily. She's warm, snuggled between them in a pile of naked limbs and makes a contented noise (she's not sure she could even replicate it if she tried).

“Happy?” Jon asks, his thumb drawing circles on her hip.

“Warm,” she says simply and presses her toes against his leg to prove her point.

Emily laughs, loud and delighted, from where she's spooned behind her. “It's a good thing you moved to Los Angeles, babe.”

“It was a pretty good win for us, I think,” Jon agrees.

Priyanka doesn't have the words to respond. She wants to say something about how she didn’t expect leaving New York to turn into this or try and name whatever she’s feeling, maybe finally mention to Emily that she really likes the print hanging beside their bed. She just snuggles into Emily's body, leans into Jon's touch. She doesn’t need to say anything, really — she’ll be back again.


End file.
